Close
by singerme
Summary: A little vingette between Matt and Kitty.


Close

I don't own these characters; I just like to spend time with them. No other profit to be had.

**MKMKMKMKMKMKMKMKMKMK**

Kitty sat close beside the bed, as she had so many times before, bathing his brow and chest with cool water, praying the infection and fever would leave his body.

Doc had left the room only moments before, ostensibly to get some rest, but she knew in reality it was simply because there was nothing else he could do. The battle now was completely in Matt's hands. His poor, battered hands.

"You know, sooner or later, you're going to have to quit getting shot like this, Cowboy," she spoke to the comatose man, lying so still on the bed. "Your body can't take too much more."

"I can't take too much more," she added softly. "You came too close to dying this time."

Matt lay still and unresponsive. If he heard her at all, he gave no indication of it. His breathing was the only sign that he was still with her.

Tossing the cloth back into the basin beside her, she gently pushed a wayward curl off of his forehead before wearily sitting back in the hard chair beside him. Resting her head against the unforgiving back of her seat, she tiredly closed her eyes. It wasn't the sleep she really needed, but it was as close as she was going to get right then. She wasn't about to leave his side.

But rest would not come to the exhausted woman, instead, nightmare images of the bank holdup and Matt being gunned down in the street, incessantly flashed before her. Images of a bandit laughing as he rode away screaming, "I got Matt Dillon."

She tried to reassure herself that the fact he was still alive was a good sign. Even Doc had stated so. But her beleaguered mind kept circling around the fact that he had been laying here, in this bed, for five days now, unconscious and getting weaker each day.

Forcefully, she pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated instead on the events of a week prior. Before the bank holdup and the horrible sight of Matt lying prostate in the street, his blood seeping slowly into the ground beneath him.

They had gone on a rare outing to Spring Creek a week ago. The town had been quiet, as had the saloon, and both decided to take advantage of the weather and the circumstances. Packing fishing poles and a large picnic basket into the back of Doc's buggy, they left town to enjoy a little time alone.

The day had been wonderful. The light spring breeze had blown warm against them as they sat side by side on the bank of the creek, poles in the water, trying earnestly to out-fish the other. Then later, as the poles were abandoned along with their clothes, they enjoyed the closeness and peace that their lovemaking always brought.

For those few brief hours, he was not the Marshal and she wasn't a saloon owner. They were simply two people very much in love, enjoying the comforts that each gave the other, in a world that could sometimes be hard and cruel and comfortless.

As the day waned and they dressed and began to gather their things for the trip back to town, Kitty looked around them, wishing to keep the memory of their day close, where she could pull it back to be examined like the treasure it was to her.

Matt moaned lightly and Kitty sat up, placing her hand on his brow. Lovingly, she once again wet the cloth with cool water and wiped his forehead and chest. "Hang in there, Matt." She pleaded. "Please hang in there. I can't live without you. You know that? I can't."

The door opened softly and Doc shuffled in, coming over to the bed to check on his patient. But glancing down at her poor pinched and worried face, Doc wasn't sure who needed him most, Matt or Kitty.

"You need some rest," Doc told her. "You've been up here most of the time since it happened."

Kitty shook her head. "I'm fine," she answered unconvincingly. "I'm not leaving him, Doc. I can't leave him. He needs me. I know he hates to admit that, but it's the truth. He needs me to stay close and I'm not leaving as long as he does."

Doc nodded in understanding. Although the stalwart and stoic US Marshal of Dodge City gave the impression of a man battling the evils of the world alone, Doc knew better. For a good number of years now, Matt had a secret source of strength that many knew about but only a few close friends understood. Doc was one of the few. "You need to at least eat something." He tried.

"I did earlier." She said, not sure if that was true or not. In truth she couldn't remember when she'd eaten last. She wasn't sure it mattered.

"Kitty," Doc pushed, "you cannot go on like this. You haven't slept more than an hour or so at a time and I haven't seen you eat more than a spoonful of food since he was brought up here. You have to take care of yourself.""

"I am taking care of myself," she protested. "I'm fine.

Doc shook his head, knowing it was senseless to do so but not willing to give up the fight, for Matt's sake if not for hers. "Kitty you are not taking care of yourself. You're just not. You're exhausted and weak…"

"Hey," a frail voice called, but was unheeded by the physician and the irritated red head.

"What I am, is sick of you trying to push me out of here," Kitty's voice rose along with her temper. "Now, I'm not leaving and that's final."

"Hey," the voice called again, a little stronger.

Both of the arguing parties froze and looked over to the man lying there. Though red rimmed and sunken, his eyes were open, and sparkling, and a small grin played around his lips.

"Would you two stop arguing?" He said, amusement in his raspy voice. "How am I ever gonna get well with you two disturbing my rest?"

"Oh, Matt!" Kitty almost yelled, as she dropped to her knees beside the bed, gently caressing his cheek. "Oh, God, Matt."

"I'm not God," Matt said with a weak chuckle. "I don't think I ever will be, but I'm here."

"That's close enough for me, Cowboy," she smiled as an errant tear slipped down her cheek. "That's close enough."

The End


End file.
